


Tummy Ache

by PatPrecieux



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Easter, First Kiss, Fluff and Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-19 23:02:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10649889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatPrecieux/pseuds/PatPrecieux
Summary: Sherlock has no interest in John's Easter Basket. None at all.





	Tummy Ache

**Author's Note:**

> It's their first Easter as flatmates. John considers himself lucky that Sherlock hasn't "deleted" the holiday all together.

The deep baritone voice pierced the flat as if the speaker was trying to alert the entire of Baker Street.

 

"John, WHAT is this monstrosity, and WHY is it currently residing in my sitting room?"

 

Sighing in resignation, the tired, put-upon doctor came out of the loo toweling the remnants of his shower from his silver gold hair.

 

"What monstrosity Sherlock? It's been a long day, so you'll need to be more specific."

 

Screwing up his face as if smelling month old refuse, the younger man huffed in annoyance as he thrust one long elegant finger towards the sofa. "THAT", he said with disgust.

 

His eyes seeking the "offensive" item, John giggled. "My Easter Basket is your monstrosity? Christ Sherlock, it's a gift from the clinic staff, and precisely what about it has triggered this outrage?" He tried to appear serious, but the giggles would not stop.

 

Now thoroughly annoyed, Sherlock began ticking off a list. "First, it's blue AND plastic. Baskets are traditionally woven from reed like material or pliable wood, and blue? Ghastly! Second what is the point of purple cellophane combined with said blue? My retinas are detatching as we speak."

 

Moving closer, he lifted the edge of the cellophane as if it were toxic and recoiled as if burned. "And what is this green chaos meant to be? A hairball?"

 

"It's meant to be "play" grass you berk. You know, where the Easter eggs and candy can be hidden. Just a bit of fun that's all. Surely you've seen Easter Baskets before, as a kiddie?"

 

Sherlock frowned, "If I have, it's been deleted. What use is it at any rate?"

 

"This is a way to show appreciation Sherlock. Does everything have to be useful in your world, Jesus. Here look, there's jelly beans, a chocolate bunny, marshmallow chicks, tulip shaped lollies, and my favorite Cadbury Creme Eggs. There's enough here for six people, try something."

 

"Obviously one of us is still a little boy wanting a sweetie before dinner. Be my guest John, but the adult in the room will decline."

 

The older man wanted to summon some anger, but the damned giggles kept coming back. "What's obvious to me is, I may be a kid at heart, but YOU are the one acting like a child. Don't want any? Fine, more for me."

 

~~~***~~~

 

After John removed the terrible, horrible basket to the relative safety of the kitchen counter, the remainder of the afternoon proceeded in what passed for quiet at 221B. Sherlock had even been convinced to eat a small ham and cheese sandwich.

 

John made tea and brought a cup to Sherlock, then settled into his armchair. The lanky brunette, sprawled on his sofa throne, rolled to his side, his eyes narrow slits as he glared at John. "Now what are you doing?"

 

"Having a Cadbury Creme Egg. I should think these would be right up your street, what with the yolk inside."

 

Sherlock seemed confused, "Yolk? Explain."

 

"You've never seen, ah eaten... Oh that's right, only for kiddies." John peeled the colorful foil cover from the shell and took a delicate bite from the very top.

 

Tipping the egg so Sherlock could see, he smiled, "Look, the Creme filling is white and yellow to seem like an egg white and yolk. I love these, but they're so rich, one a day is really enough."

 

Before Sherlock could respond, John took out a hideously bright, ridiculously tiny, pink plastic spoon and began to scoop the faux egg from inside the shell. With each little spoonful, John licked his lips and the "utensil" while making, what Sherlock frankly considered to be, obscene sounds.

 

By the time John devoured the chocolate shell and sat leisurely licking the melted remains from his fingers, Sherlock had whipped himself into a frenzy.

 

"Must you be so noisy while eating John? You're more distracting than the idiots at the Yard."

 

"My apologies, your Highness. I wasn't aware licking my fingers was a loud activity."

 

"Perhaps if you kept the smacking sounds and moans to a minimum."

 

"Sorry, it's just decadent, but as I said, rich. I've had my fill for tonight so I can..."

 

Sherlock jumped up wrapping his dressing gown around him tightly. Flouncing off to the loo with righteous indignation, he hissed, "This discussion is exceedingly tedious, I'm going to bed."

 

Had he glanced back, he would have seen the satisfied, if somewhat evil grin on John's face.

 

~~~***~~~

 

On his back in bed later, the doctor resisted the impulse to feel guilty about teasing his flatmate with his eating habits. Something had been brewing just under the surface between them of late, and John was determined to investigate. Sherlock's reaction tonight was a clear sign he was right.

 

Just as sleep began to call, John heard what sounded like a small wounded animal crying out. Snapping to high alert, he threw on his robe and went downstairs.

 

In the dim light, he could just make out the shape of his friend curled into a tight ball on the sofa. He was rocking back and forth, soft mewls of pain coming from his lips.

 

John fumbled to turn the small table lamp on to give him a bit more light, and went to the sofa. Putting a gentle hand on a bony shoulder he asked, "Sherlock, what's wrong? Are you hurt? Where's the pain?"

 

Sherlock groaned, "Go away John. Leave me alone, I'm fine!"

 

His voice taking on the somewhat stern Captain Watson timbre, he countered. "You are decidedly not fine, and I am definitely NOT leaving you alone. Now you will tell me what is happening."

 

Surrendering to the firm order, Sherlock whined, "I seem to be experiencing gastrointestinal distress."

 

His mind flashing immediately to possible appendicitis, John quickly assessed pulse, heart rate, and temperature. Finding nothing amiss, he bagan to scan the room. In a minute, he discovered the tattered remains of wrappers for at least half dozen Cadbury eggs stuffed between the sofa cushions.

 

Sherlock looked so pitiful, the doctor couldn't bring himself to be mean, but he could get his own back. Patting a sharp hipbone and using his best pediatrician voice, he crooned, "You've got a tummy ache?"

 

"John please, I find no humor in my agony. How telling that YOU do. Speaks to your character."

 

"And this speaks to you being a drama queen."

 

A small sniffle went right to John's heart, "Nevertheless, I am your doctor and my job is to take care if you. Let's get your tummy into bed and we'll see about making you better."

 

Protesting and grumbling all the way, Sherlock finally settled under the covers. Soon John came in with a heating pad and some chewable antacid/gas reliever tablets.

 

"Chew these, drink this glass of water and put the heating pad on a comfortable setting. I'll be back in a second."

 

As he brewed a cup of tea, John shook his head and smiled fondly. How could anyone as smart as Sherlock be so clueless. Coming back to the bedroom, John noted the younger man seemed less miserable.

 

Sitting on the bed, he brushed a stray curl from a pale forehead. "So, tummy feeling better?"

 

"John, will you kindly refrain from referring to my digestive system as a tummy!"

 

"Well I would, but someone with a digestive system would have better sense than to eat six of those eggs at one time. Only a little boy would do that, therefore I repeat, tummy feeling better?"

 

At that precise moment, Sherlock's tummy decided to seek it's own relief as the strong scent of rotten eggs filled the room. His face turned beet red as he tried to hide under the duvet.

 

"Bloody hell Sherlock, warn a bloke when you're going to launch a gas attack", he snorted, "at least this time the egg smell has a reason. Never had one affect me like that."

 

"You are being purposely cruel, I'm suffering."

 

John knew one look at this man and he was lost, "I'm sorry really. Here, let's turn this heating pad off."

 

"But it's helping."

 

"I know love, but you don't want to overdo it. There's something else to try, just lie back and relax." John began rubbing slow gentle circles over Sherlock's stomach while carding his fingers through dark curls.

 

"What are you doing John?"

 

"Best cure in the world for tummy trouble. Always works miracles. How's that then love?"

 

"Acceptable. You keep calling me that...thing. Why?"

 

"Love? My very best bedside manner, for my most special patient. Want me to stop?"

 

"No, ah, what else does your bedside manner include if I may ask?"

 

"You may. I do subscribe to some of the older methods of diagnosis, such as checking for fever with my lips. Objections?"

 

"I would never be foolish enough to doubt my doctor."

 

John pressed a firm kiss to Sherlock's brow, then his wrist. "No fever, pulse normal."

 

Sherlock shivered, "I felt a chill doctor. Perhaps you should check my respiration."

 

John lowered his head, "Are you sure?" A small nod and he dropped a tender kiss on bow shaped lips. "Respiration a bit uneven, best check it again, frequently. Now as to your heart", another light kiss on the frayed t-shirt over the heart, "hmm, elevated. You will definitely require follow-up care Mr.Holmes."

 

Sherlock smiled shyly, "Perhaps check my breathing again?" As he raised his chin inviting another kiss, his eyes suddenly opened wide. "John, Vatican Cameos!" The second gas attack brought welcome relief, and left both men laughing until tears rolled down their cheeks.

 

Later, a doctor ordered cuddle in progress, Sherlock purred, "May I have a tummy rub again? It seems to have had a strange effect on my, ah urinary tract system, calls for further tests I think."

 

John snogged him soundly, "Tummy rubs whenever you want one, and I have a cure for that OTHER ache I believe. Yes, I have just the prescription for that situation, guaranteed satisfaction."

 

"I look forward to your treatments Dr.Watson." Sherlock turned a mischievous grin on his new boyfriend, as he rubbed his own stomach. "I've already learned a valuable lesson today from you."

 

"I know I shouldn't ask, but what lesson?"

 

Reaching out to place John's hand on his still sore tummy, he rumbled, "Never put all your chocolate eggs in one basket."

**Author's Note:**

> The moral of the story is: You CAN HAVE too much of a good thing. But go ahead, IF you have a doctor in the house. ;)


End file.
